"Not entirely. I do not know the sex or the name of the person from whom you fled at the corner shop."
Gertrude turned swiftly towards the window. "I can answer no question on that point," she said in low tones.
"Do you think this person had possession of the eye?" I persisted.
"No! no! no! Ask me no more, I have told you all that I can tell you."
"I will only ask one question, which--if I am to learn the truth about this case, and save you from arrest--I must have answered. Do you believe that the person in question is guilty?"
She turned with a pearly-white face. "No, the person is not guilty. Do you wish me to swear it?"
Her question was sarcastic, and I winced. "I believe your bare word," I said somewhat coldly; "have I not proved my belief?"
"Forgive me." In her turn she moved towards me, and laid a beseeching hand on my arm. "You are my best friend and indeed my only friend. I have no one but you to trust."
"And love?" I asked, trying to catch her hands. "No! no!" she drew away; "not yet."
"Yes, now. We must understand one another. I am not content with friendship, Gertrude, I want your love."